


Forbidden Love

by lesdemonium (winnerstick), winnerstick



Series: Romtober 2020 [14]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hands, I wanna hold your hand, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, but specifically the version from across the universe, that's not relevant i'm sorry it's early, the gay one by tv carpio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27006733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnerstick/pseuds/lesdemonium, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnerstick/pseuds/winnerstick
Summary: Jaskier's hands were distracting.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Romtober 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949827
Comments: 22
Kudos: 163





	Forbidden Love

**Author's Note:**

> sure this.... counts.... for forbidden love....

Jaskier’s hands were distracting.

His fingers were long and slender, covered in calluses, not from a rough life of manual labor, but from a dedication to his craft. He touched things delicately, as if they might break if he put too much pressure on them, as if he had somehow confused himself with Geralt’s heavy, destructive fumbling. With those fingers he could pull a melody from just about any instrument, Geralt hadn’t seen him fail once, no matter how much he claimed his incompetence. Geralt longed to kiss them, to see if his lips could parse the bridge between soft and hard.

Jaskier moved like he was dancing. Lithe and nimble, like he was performing, always. His fingers danced, too. They trailed just above Geralt’s skin, never touching, never breaking the strict, invisible lines they had drawn between themselves. Sometimes, Geralt half expected to see magic done with those fingers, but so far Geralt could find nothing magical about the bard except for, well. Everything.

Sometimes, Jaskier wore rings. Fine, jeweled ones, that looked almost heavy and caught the light, and Geralt’s eye, every time he moved. Simple, silver and gold bands, that Jaskier twisted when he was lost in thought or nervous. Gaudy, ugly things, that looked so beautiful on Jaskier, because everything looked beautiful on Jaskier.

Once, Jaskier had taken Geralt’s hand. He had been drunk at a festival, and claimed the move was so he wouldn’t lose Geralt. Jaskier entangled their fingers and held tightly the rest of the night, even when they were no longer at risk of separation. All night, Geralt was worried he would crush Jaskier’s fingers, that he would pull back when the softness of his palm pressed against the rough sword-calluses of Geralt’s. He didn’t, not once. And when they sat together in the tavern late that night, and Jaskier took his hand out of Geralt’s, those nimble fingers traced the ugly hardness of Geralt’s palm.

Jaskier’s hands were not for Geralt to hold. They were for pulling melodies from instruments, for touching the expensive fabric of fine clothes, for delicately holding goblets of wine. They belonged wrapped around a lady’s waist or holding the hand of some princess as he kissed her knuckles. They were for noble people, expensive people, beautiful people, just like Jaskier.

Jaskier’s hands were not for Geralt.


End file.
